The Forsaken Hero

A clear, melodious peal split the air when Korra’s fist collided with the Aegis. The note penetrated every sparring battle and training session with ease, drawing the attention of soldiers, onlookers, and camp followers alike. Even the sixth-level mages paused their spells and glanced over, attention set on the unusual noise.

When the haze of water and fog generated by her attack cleared, Korra stepped back with awe on her face. A single hairline crack ran through the Aegis, but even as we watched, it rapidly knit together, drawing only a fraction of mana from my soul for the repairs.

Murmured whispers rose and fell like waves, sweeping through the training grounds as soldiers inquired as to the source and those nearby explained it to them. Korra approached the ball again and tapped it lightly with her finger, making sure it was actually still there and not some illusion.

”Just what did you do to that spell?” she asked, gaping at me.

I shrugged, growing a bit flustered at all the attention. A tinge of red crept over my face as my tail twitched, and I shrank back closer to Fable. ”I-it’s just something I’ve been working on,” I stammered.

”Like hell it is,” she said with a shake of her head. ”And what’s up with you? I just...oh.”

For the first time, she noticed the response her display had garnered. We’d gotten a small crowd by now, especially from the more experienced soldiers who had been able to sense the full power of her attack. Just as they were growing bold enough to approach me directly, a loud, commanding voice startled them back.

”That’s enough gawking, get back to work!” Orion shouted. He pushed through a small cluster of mages with an angry snarl, stepping directly up to my side. ”Orders just came down and we march tomorrow! Get your new powers sorted out before then, or they’ll be hell to pay!”

The crowd of onlookers dispersed immediately, or, at the very least, gave us some distance. The fifth and sixth-level soldiers returned to their practice, but the weaker ones remained close by, eying us with eager expectation. Orion ignored most of those, probably because they couldn’t train anyway, and if not here they’d probably get into trouble somewhere else. That was the danger of camp life.

”Now then,” he said, looking between me and Korra. ”What’s all this about?”

Korra pointed at the floating Aegis, and Orion raised an eyebrow.

”Hit it with a magical technique. Your strongest,” she said, stepping back.

The soldier glanced at me, but I was still struggling to regain my composure and only nodded. He unsheathed his sword and smothered it in mana, charging a sixth-level technique. After a few seconds, the blade glowed brighter than the sun and emitted a pressure that stole my breath and set my heart pounding in my chest.

He was finished before I knew it, initiating the attack and appearing on the other side of the sphere before my eyes registered he’d moved at all. A breath later, another powerful chime rolled through the air, this one even louder than the first. When the lingering light of the attack dissipated, it revealed a long, clean gash that nearly bisected the Aegis.

”That’s odd,” Orion said, frowning as he sheathed his sword. ”I could have sworn I aimed to cut it in half.”

”That’s what I’m saying,” Korra said, a smug grin on her face. ”This spell’s absurd. Your sword only made it about halfway before it ran out of power and glanced off.”

No sooner had she finished speaking than the sphere imploded, unable to repair the catastrophic damage of the attack. As the golden light dissipated, a small smile crossed my face, driving off the last of my discomfort. Orion may have broken the spell, but I wasn’t disappointed, it had served its purpose.

”What level was that spell?” Orion asked slowly, sensing something was off.

”First.”

”Oh.”

It was the understatement of the century. A first-circle spell had survived a sixth-level attack. If something like this were to be made known to the world, it would throw the various magical powers into chaos. It was well known that a defensive spell could only handle attacks of the same tier, and anyone capable of surviving more than that was considered a prodigy, myself included. Until now, it was common for my magic to hold against anything an entire level above, but that had been the limit.

”Why did you show me this?” Korra folded her arms and struck a casual standing pose, looking at me intently. ”While powerful, that’s about the limit of what your magic can do, isn’t it? I doubt you can apply that technique to a defensive formation any bigger than the Aegis, and it takes too long to cast to be practical in combat.”

”That’s the limitation of spells,” I said, nodding. ”It’s almost impossible to modify them to any significant degree because you have specifically calibrated the runes and circles to handle it. I spent almost a month studying how to create a modified Aegis, and, as you said, I can’t even make it large enough to shield a person.”

”Then why?” Orion asked, echoing Korra.

I didn’t respond, instead simply looked at the Water Hero. She blinked, confused by my attention, before her eyes lit up.

”You can’t be serious...” she said. I nodded, and she swallowed hard, almost shaking with excitement. ”Show me.”

Again, I took just enough mana for a third-circle spell and crafted the small bubble of protective magic. It wasn’t exactly like the Canyon Crawler’s ability, I lacked a reference to perfect it, but as the earlier demonstration had proved, it was still effective.

Korra watched intently as I finished it. I left it hanging in the air about head height so she could study it, and slumped back against Fable, panting lightly. It had only been a day since I recovered consciousness, and casting such intense magic left me drained and exhausted. I had no wish to push my limits right now, and hoped what I’d done was enough for Korra. If it wasn’t, she’d half to wait for tomorrow. After what I’d shown here, I wondered if that was even possible, or if she’d somehow convince me to try again. Knowing her, and me, it probably was.

Fortunately, she surpassed my expectations. After almost half an hour, she stepped back with a satisfied hum, a wide grin spreading across her face.

”You designed that specifically for me, didn’t you,” she said, meeting my eyes.

I nodded, then shook my head. ”Well, kind of. More with Magical Arts in general than you specifically.”

She tilted her head in confusion. ”But I invented them, Xiviyah. Who else would it...wait, you think they can learn?”

”Of course,” I said with a small smile. ”You learned, didn’t you?”

”Learned what?” Orion asked. He’d been waiting patiently by my side the entire time, and only now asked what we were even doing.

”This.”

With that, Korra clapped her hands together. Mana erupted from her soul in a typhoon of shimmering blue light, rapidly coalescing into thousands of individual threads. They wove together in an intricate sphere identical to the one floating in the air, save they were tangible and real instead of the hologram-like display I used to teach her.

It took less than five seconds to complete. When it did, the network of mana faded into obscurity, visible only as a slight watery distortion around her body. Korra let out a long breath and sagged, looking suddenly exhausted, but her lips held a satisfied smile.

”Is it good?” she asked hopefully.

I shrugged with a wry smile. ”Only one way to find out. Orion, please hit her with a fourth-level technique.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but upon realizing I only asked for a fourth, took a fighting stance. He probably didn’t want to hurt her, but Korra was tough enough to evade a fourth-level attack even if the defensive matrix failed.

His sword glowed again, but he stopped gathering power after only a second or two and cut forward. It was still faster than I could comfortably see, but I saw the moment his sword connected with the semi-invisible shield. It flared at the contact, becoming briefly visible, and released a low, resonating hum, quite unlike the bell-like chime of mine.

But the effects were the same, and Orion’s sword scatted harmlessly off of the shield. Korra clapped her hands gleefully and quickly beckoned for him to try again.

”Sixth this time!” she cried, striking her own fighting stance.

”Very well,” Orion replied, raising his sword. I half-expected him to protest, but it seemed whatever he felt during the attack gave him enough confidence in the Art. ”I’m not holding back this time.”

A sixth-level magical technique held the power to destroy a small village, or cleave a mountain in two, yet the raw, destructive power dissipated harmlessly around Korra, dispersed through the network of mana forming mimicking the crawler’s ability.

I settled back against Fable, my staff held loosely in my lap, as the two began to spar. It began as rigorous testing to refine her new art but quickly evolved into something more. Orion began asking questions, and before long had all but mastered first-level Magic Arts.

Though unaware of the true depths of the event, soldiers gathered to watch, mesmerized by the sight of two high-level combatants fighting. It didn’t bother me this time, I wasn’t the center of attention. Instead, it was Korra, and the new Art we created.

It was a battle to change the future of warriors everywhere, the beginning of the reign of magic arts over techniques.